


A Terrible Boss

by the-bloody-masquerade (Devil_Latte)



Category: Vampire: The Masquerade – Bloodlines (Video Game)
Genre: Bloodbond assisted OOC cuddles, Bloodbond weirdness, M/M, Very light shipping but I'm tagging the relationship anyway, You do crazy things when you're hungry, a little violent to be fluff so watch out, lots of worldbuilding drabble, not explicit, pre-game, regnant and ghoul relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-29
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:22:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23388700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Devil_Latte/pseuds/the-bloody-masquerade
Summary: Sebastian LaCroix, embroiled in his schemes to impress Prince Michaela of New York, has let his relatively new ghoul Mercurio go without for vitae for 36 days and counting. Mercurio, not impressed in the slightest, and getting more hangry and desperate by the second, decides he must barge his way into LaCroix's office to demand his regnant's blood. Meanwhile, LaCroix is seven layers deep in paperwork and is more than a little peckish himself.
Relationships: Sebastian LaCroix/Mercurio
Comments: 13
Kudos: 47





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> During these weird, turbulent times, the writer MissingTriforce brought the "Fic Backlog Project" to my attention, stating that a global pandemic is as good a time as any to buck up and finally polish and post those fics that have been sitting on your computer for months, maybe years. So welcome to what is basically my re-debut to fanfic writing. While I really haven't stopped creating fan content all this time, the last time I really posted fanfic was high school, I stopped dead in college. In the intervening years have somehow reacquired the courage to post again, so please be nice. This started out as a oneshot in my new favorite fandom, but somehow ended up being a 4,500 word behemoth. And have all the chapters at once, since we all need something to read these days.

_New York City, 1977_

“Oh, I’m sorry, Mr. LaCroix isn’t receiving anyone tonight.”

Mercurio leaned against his fists on the receptionist’s desk, hoping that doing so would prevent her from seeing they were shaking. He managed a smile. “Sure, that’s what he says, but that doesn’t really apply to me.”

The young woman—'Charisse,’ her name badge read—gave him a dubious look neatly packaged in a polite façade. “Do you have an appointment?”

Mercurio bit back his mounting anxiety. “No,” he replied. “But I shouldn’t need one.”

He’d probably scared the poor girl, tumbling in from the rain-slicked Manhattan streets after dark with the singular purpose of demanding an audience with her boss. He knew he looked like shit, a real intimidating sight for a fresh-faced twenty-something like her. She had just been sitting sentinel here in the semi-gloom, clacking away on an electric typewriter. What sick fuck had given this doe-eye young woman paperwork and door duty after hours when any number of creeps could come crawling in from the street?

His only saving grace was that he knew she recognized him. He prayed that little detail would pull its weight. Of course, the official story was that he was “an occasional independent contractor for the LaCroix Foundation.” It was a hell of a lie. After six months of schlepping around for the big man himself, Mercurio realized he wasn’t even sure what said foundation actually did or was supposed to do. Bloodsuckers had to make money one way or another, he figured. 

Charisse was unconvinced by Mercurio’s wheedling. Alone as she was in the posh and shadowy lobby, she puffed out her chest and tried to make herself look intimidating. It was a tall order for her in her powder pink silk blouse with her big permed hair. God bless her. “Mr. LaCroix been very busy trying to catch up with some work; he specifically instructed me that he wasn’t to be bothered tonight.”

Any other time, Mercurio might have been charmed by her pluck but tonight he was dancing a delicate line. Unseen beneath the counter, he crumpled the hem of his shirt in his fist, trying not to let the mania of a junkie in need of a fix creep into his eyes or voice. “C-can’t you just call him and ask?”

“He’s…” she lowered her voice, eyes pleading, “he’s not in a good mood right now.”

Mercurio snorted a laugh to hide his desperation. “Listen, Charisse, I get it, you’re just doin’ your job and I know the guy’s not always rainbows and butterflies, I’ve seen it. Would you just buzz ‘em and let him know Mercurio needs to see him. I’ll take the heat for you, I swear. It’s really, really important. I gotta see him tonight.”

Her face softened, but not enough.

“Please,” he added. He wasn’t sure how much more he could take. 

Tentatively, she pressed a finger to the call button. “Um, Mr. LaCroix?”

“WHAT?”

Charisse cringed and Mercurio met her eyes sympathetically.

“Mr. Mercurio is here to see you?”

The response was something angry and French. Whereas the volume of the intercom may have been set for only Charisse to hear, LaCroix’s voice was raised loud enough to eject all discretion out the window. “Listen Charisse, of all the things I have to make time for tonight, _he_ is certainly not one of them.”

That did it. Before Mercurio knew what he was doing, he had lunged over the counter and mashed the intercom button himself.

“Now listen here, you soggy piece of French toast!” he spat into the receiver, despite Charisse’s startled yet meek protest. “I just got back from…” his eyes flicked to the girl, a kine; he winced, “…the _other office_ , and for the third time they told me you didn’t have my… _monthly update_ , ready for me. And I’m getting’ kinda impatient here, ‘cause you know what’ll happen if I don’t get it and it ain’t gonna be pretty for either of us! So, I wanna know what you’re going to do about it, Mr. Bigshot CEO,” His lips curled into a sardonic smirk. “I’m really _dyin’_ to know.”

There was no response and Mercurio and Charisse were left in a lonely and awkward silence. Mercurio’s bravado began to drain. He mentally scrubbed back through everything he had just said to his boss, his vampiric regnant, the one in control of the drug-like vitae he was craving, felt he would shrivel up and die without. He’d fucked up. He’d fucked up so bad. 

“Charisse,” came the voice finally, icily, “send Mercurio up to my office.”

“Yes sir.”

Mercurio exhaled sharply, his nerves settling somewhat. Embarrassed, he withdrew himself from the countertop. He was about to thank Charisse and apologize when LaCroix’s voice knifed in once more.

“This is to be the absolute LAST interruption, woman, do I make myself clear?”

The young girl blanched. “Y-yes, Mr. LaCroix,” she stammered into the receiver. She reached across the desk and stabbed the elevator activation key. Then, after a beat of recovery, she folded her hands and gave Mercurio a tiny, and yet wholly genuine smile. “Go on up.”

Mercurio slipped a hand over the counter to pat hers. “Charisse, you’re an absolute treasure. I’mma bring you some flowers the next time I come, alright, sweetheart?”

Mercurio saw her face brighten in surprise but despite his good will turned heel before her response. He sprinted to the elevator and pressed his way inside as soon as the doors swept open.

The sluggish ascent to the LaCroix’s penthouse office suite was excruciating, and the corny piped in muzak was doing nothing to lift Mercurio’s foul mood.

He had been told that his situation was not like that of other ghouls. LaCroix kept him at arm’s length, so most of the time, he didn’t think much of the guy. It had been something like a half year since Mercurio had become LaCroix’s ghoul, and yet he could still count on one hand how many times he had seen the man in person. Most communication was carried out through telephone conversations, and each month LaCroix’s blood was supplied to him in vials at a separate location. He had never felt the marrow leeching agony of going too long without his regnant’s blood. Until now. And hearing his _prick_ of a regnant dismiss him while in this state had made him snap. Oh, LaCroix was gonna get an earful. Right after he bled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm playing very fast and loose with "the ghoul rules" so please humor me and let me have my fun.

Sebastian LaCroix was not having a good night. He sat hunched at his desk, surrounded by piles of papers. Contracts, correspondences, invoices, stock analyses, and any number of other items, all requiring his simultaneous attention. He’d been running himself ragged for Prince Michaela these past few weeks, and disappointing the prince spelled jeopardy for his future ambitions within the Camarilla.

As if he did not already tread a fine line with the prince, her childe—that wretched Hellene—had taken to openly teasing him at the Ventrue clan meetings as of late, hiding her acerbic derision of him within a honeyed tone of voice. “Whiny little boy,” she’d called him. The absolute gall of it! And with LaCroix being over a hundred years her senior too.

He had looked to Michaela to scold her own childe but instead found her smirking at his expense. That had quashed all protest in his throat. He was not so foolhardy as to challenge the prince or her childe in front of the whole damned clan.

One day he would not have to check himself at every turn, one day he would be above it all. But until that day deigned to present itself…

Here he sat. Rain spattered the window behind him. His right-hand kindred and bodyguard stood statuesque in his usual place in the corner. Not very helpful in matters of business and an even poorer conversationalist, the Nagaloper’s primary function these nights was to accompany LaCroix on his jaunts through Sabbat-infested New York.

LaCroix mentally scolded himself for his wandering mind. He attempted to turn back to his work but found his attention waning, made worse by an acidic ache throughout his entire being he knew to be his vampiric hunger. He hadn’t eaten in days. All this extra work had left him little time for acquiring his preferred vintage. And now it was causing his productivity to dwindle, damn it all.

He heard Mercurio approach before he entered, a great pounding of steps in the antechamber. When his ghoul flung open the office doors, LaCroix didn’t deign to stand. 

“Mercurio,” he said slowly. “Do you honestly think that you are so indispensable that you can barge into _my_ office, demanding—“

“Thirty-six days, LaCroix!” The ghoul tromped right up to his desk, narrowly skirting the seating area placed in front of it, and slammed a palm down on its glossy surface, disturbing several stacks of papers. “You haven’t fed me in thirty-six days! I’m about to go out of my freakin’ mind.”

At this aggressive display, LaCroix’s bodyguard took a step forward. The intent was moreso to intimidate, and Mercurio did indeed pay the bodyguard a shrinking glance.

“Yes. That.” LaCroix hummed. “You see, I had simply forgotten, amidst all the things that _actually matter_.” 

“Don’t gimme this schoolgirl playing hard to get bullcrap,” Mercurio crowed. “You want me to scope out dens of those Sabbat-allied thugs so you can play show-and-tell and look good in front of your vampire queen. Don’t pretend I’m worthless to you!” 

Incredible, he’d become absolutely dauntless. But as loath as LaCroix was to admit it, the ghoul had effectively highlighted his own usefulness. If LaCroix’s latest scheme to impress the Prince was to succeed, he needed the intel only the day-walking ghoul could provide and he needed it as soon as possible. 

Under normal circumstances he would have wasted no time dominating Mercurio into a much more pliant state. But even the thought drove a biting ache through LaCroix’s veins. He was too hungry to call on such a power without consequences. Damn it all.

All evening there had been a perfectly viable meal sitting down at the lobby desk, busying herself with typing he’d given her, calling up several times to bother him with clarification on the most doltish matters. But no, her blood was nigh useless to him. Confound his Ventrue heritage. No, his damnable blood preference was…

His eyes flicked up to Mercurio. This rain-drenched, greasy-haired inarticulate lout. The Ventrue’s eyes narrowed self-loathingly.

As dire as his hunger was, the idea of feeding from such a disorderly ghoul caused his skin to crawl, not to mention the fact that the ghoul was unlikely to calmly volunteer his blood in this state. And without the use of dominate the feeding could only stand to get… messy. No, he would not stoop to something so base. Even less did he wish to cave to his flailing subordinate’s demands as some sort of barter. LaCroix wanted him gone this instant. 

“Enough. Your point has been made. I will have a vial ready for you in the regular place tomorrow.”

“Oh, no, I’m not leavin’ now. Not when I got the real deal right in front ‘a me.”

And now he was being harassed by his own ghoul! “Absolutely not. Out of the question,” he hissed. LaCroix had never much cared for keeping ghouls precisely for this reason. A method had been devised to keep ghouls from developing this maddening codependence and obsession, namely, feeding them remotely, meeting them infrequently, and putting off the formation of a blood bond for as long as possible. His very first ghoul had died by his own hand simply because he could no longer put up with her incessant ministrations. It had only been this past decade that he’d pondered giving the practice another shot. He was beginning to rethink his decision.

“I need the blood, you’ve got the blood,” Mercurio exclaimed, “Let’s have it!” The ghoul dove for a letter opener laying on LaCroix’s desk.

Incensed, LaCroix at last rose to his feet. “I said that’s _enough_!” As soon as the words left his mouth, he felt a hollow daze of exhaustion and pitched forward, barely catching himself with a palm on his desk. Out of sheer habit, the exclamation had been issued as a dominate command. But, with so little left to give, he feared the dangerous mistake had carved the very last ounce of strength out of his entrails.

His Nagaloper bodyguard stepped forward, sensing this shift, but not sure how to give aid. LaCroix stayed bent over his desk, face down, trying to gather his strength.

“What the fuck?” came Mercurio’s crass voice, alongside something else.

LaCroix could hear it now, not that he couldn’t before, but now it was a drum, beating beneath Mercurio’s skin. Getting louder and louder. Maddeningly so.

Something was coming over LaCroix, something that he, as an upstanding member of Camarilla society, had managed to avoid for the past forty-some-odd years. _What the fuck is this?_ The Ventrue smiled grimly as the Beast began to rouse. _I might actually frenzy._

_~_

It was very easy to take Sebastian LaCroix for granted, Mercurio thought. For one, he was shorter than many men, with a perpetually boyish face. For another, his general fastidiousness and the whine that sometimes slipped into his voice when he was upset did not serve to rally any to his cause. However, there were times when he would smile just wide enough to reveal those fangs of his. The few times Mercurio had seen this had always set him immediately on edge. This time, when Mercurio saw the fangs, LaCroix wasn’t smiling. His whole face had changed. 

Eyes hooded in shadow, skin more pallid than usual. His lips, normally a strange bruisy shade, were almost black. The Ventrue had already looked like shit when Mercurio entered the office, but now…

Mercurio recoiled from the sight. “H-hey now,” he said. “Knock it off with those vampire bedroom eyes, I’m warnin’ you…”

But he got the sense that LaCroix could no longer hear him. So fixated were his dead gray eyes on the beating pulse point in Mercurio’s neck. Slowly, LaCroix rounded his desk, eyes never leaving his prey, like a cat on the prowl. Genuinely frightened by the foreign look in those normally patrician eyes, Mercurio took a step back. His mistake. 

LaCroix leapt for him, grabbed a fistful of his auburn hair to wrench back his neck and clamped down on the exposed skin. Crying out, Mercurio attempted to disengage, but the uncannily strong LaCroix whipped him around as if he weighed nothing, slamming Mercurio’s back onto the desk where the vampire pinned him in place.

Mercurio darted his eyes across the room, imploring the big brute LaCroix always kept around for aid, but when Mercurio caught the bodyguard’s gaze he found only a cold red wall of indifference.

He shrieked in protest, grabbed a fistful of the fabric on LaCroix’s back, did anything he could think of to detangle himself, but the vampire was unshakable. Mercurio could hear the disgusting slurps just below his ear as his blood left his body to slide down LaCroix’s throat. The sound came at a steady rhythm as if Mercurio’s struggle meant nothing. 

As it continued, Mercurio’s panicked breathing slowed. A whimper turned into a sigh. Then a moan. It had stopped hurting. Transformed into something else. Something almost… good. A heady, viscous state of pleasure that he found himself becoming lost in. Mercurio stopped struggling.

He could still hear LaCroix at his neck. It kept going, and going, and _going_. He couldn’t possible have that much blood, could he? His mind grew hazy. Was this how he met his end? All went dark. 

~

The Nagaloper touched one massive clawed finger to LaCroix’s back. The single pinprick of pain caused the Ventrue to dart his head back from Mercurio’s bloodied collar when sense reclaimed him. Shaken, but sated, LaCroix pushed himself up from Mercurio’s limp body, which slid off the desk and sank to the floor.

“Oh… oh dear,” LaCroix said breathlessly. “It appears he’s fainted.” The ghoul’s erratic but persisting heartbeat was apparent to both Kindred. Wiping his mouth, LaCroix threw the opposite hand towards the seating in front of the desk. “Put him on the settee.”

As the Nagaloper effortlessly went about this task, LaCroix grasped the front of his suit jacket and clicked his tongue. “The blasted ghoul got blood on my lapels…”

A paradoxical good-natured smile appeared on his lips. Releasing the bloodied garment, LaCroix found himself sliding his tongue along his red-stained fingers, savoring even these loathsome missed drops.


	3. Chapter 3

Slowly, the world returned to Mercurio. Cold and dark at first, but soon the dimly lit office came into focus. He found himself sprawled prone on one of the ugly, too-fancy-for-comfort couches set in the center of the room. 

Seated on the matching couch opposite him, one ankle casually resting on the opposite knee, was LaCroix. He was reading a book.

Emotion returned before words. “You…” Mercurio rasped. He reached out and clawed the air between them, pitching himself off the couch and onto the floor.

LaCroix closed the book, looked down at him through long lashes. 

“You bastard, you assaulted me!” Mercurio’s limbs were trembling with a lingering chill. He’d lost so much blood… “You could’a killed me!”

“Which would have been well within my right.” It was not the threat it seemed to be. A casual fact delivered in an almost singsong manner.

Mercurio was taken aback. LaCroix’s face now held a vitality that had been starkly absent before. A color and fullness that, Mercurio realized with a chill, his own blood had restored. The vampire was smiling in a sleepy, almost drunk way, with a warmth in his eyes that Mercurio knew was grossly out of character for the ruthless bureaucrat before him. And yet…

…he began to find it strangely fascinating. 

Still seated, LaCroix planted a heel on the edge of the antique coffee table that separated them and gave a swift shove, sending the priceless piece skittering away. He seemed to be giving Mercurio the clearance to approach, knowing the ghoul hadn’t the strength to pick himself off the floor.

Since Mercurio’s last wakeful hour, LaCroix had shed his suit jacket and tie, no doubt covered in the ghoul’s blood, and the collared shirt that remained was unbuttoned to leave the skin of his clavicle plain to see. He now made a show of unfastening the crimson button of his cuff and ever so meticulously rolling up the sleeve, twist by twist. Throughout all, he maintained eye contact with Mercurio. When the latter broke away, instead distracted by the newly revealed wrist and vein, LaCroix smirked.

What was this? Mercurio was no vampire, but the sight of the branch of blue beneath the skin of LaCroix’s wrist held him enraptured. He had broken into a cold sweat, throat suffocatingly dry. Every nerve was pent up with electricity watching that vein. Whatever this feeling was, it frightened him.

In the back of his mind, Mercurio realized that this was a position he found himself in for only the second time.

Putting his mouth anywhere near another man, let alone lapping up blood from the wrist of one was a thought that any other time would make Mercurio’s skin crawl. Though he had consented to becoming a ghoul initially, this part had taken a taken a hefty amount of convincing the first time. Not so this time. The blood. He wanted the blood. _Needed_ it. Thirty-six days…

LaCroix lifted his arm to his mouth and gently bit into the underside. Then he extended the arm to him, two crimson points beginning to well up. “Go ahead,” he purred.

At the sight, Mercurio leapt at him. LaCroix grimaced initially at the ghoul’s voracity, then closed his eyes and rested his head on the back of the couch.

Mercurio had settled for kneeling on the floor with his torso draped across the seat of the couch, nearly in LaCroix’s lap. Like a scene from some melodramatic paintings: ‘the supplicant and his lord.’ Mercurio faintly noted the irony of this scene, being surrounded as they were on all sides by just such paintings. But while this thought played in the eddies of his mind, along with a self-consciousness about just how desperately he was clutching the arm of his regnant with both hands, how utterly ridiculous it felt to have his mouth pressed to the wrist of his boss, his predominant thought was simply the precious blood and his overwhelming need of it.

Eventually the warring embarrassment and need were overtaken by some warm buzz that let him know he was done. 

Mercurio withdrew, pawed his chin with his sleeve, and rested his head on the seat cushion beside LaCroix. The wound closed before LaCroix even finished unrolling his sleeve.

Mercurio now felt exhausted, his mind slow.

LaCroix had placed one of his alabaster hands on Mercurio’s scalp, gently weaving his fingers through the ghoul’s unkempt hair. It was far too tender an expression for such a prickly man as LaCroix, and Mercurio would never have allowed it, but neither were in their right mind.

“Listen,” Mercurio hesitated at first, but felt compelled to continue, “I’m sorry for the way I was actin’ earlier. I… said some stuff I shouldn’t have.”

“What was it you called me?” LaCroix asked softly. “A ‘soggy piece of French toast?’” He laughed deep in his throat. Mercurio could not recall ever having heard him laugh before. It was strangely endearing…

“I didn’t want to cuss you out in front of a lady.”

“Yes…’” LaCroix’s tone soured. “That reminds me, I’ve been meaning to replace Charisse for quite some time now…”

Mercurio felt a small spark of alarm, but it was being blurred by some overriding pleasant emotion. Still, he asked, “What have you got against her? She’s a nice gal.”

“I wish not to dwell on the any of the unpleasantries of earlier this evening.” More kindly, with another stroke of Mercurio’s hair, LaCroix added, “Now that they have been remedied.”

“Some remedy…” Mercurio murmured. The memory of his recent assault floated back to him, though strangely, he was no longer angry. Already the memory felt like ‘a funny story.’ He chuckled. “If you’re feelin’ that shitty, why don’t you just get laid like the rest of us.”

That elicited a few short huffs of laughter, and Mercurio was filled with a bizarre elation at having coaxed this rare sound out for the second time. Why was it so satisfying?

After that, LaCroix didn’t comment further, and each second that passed in silence caused a foreign, wriggling anxiety to build in Mercurio. He wanted to hear LaCroix speak again. But he found himself at a loss of what to say to prompt a response. The longer he struggled the more unbearable the feeling became. “H-how long’ve I been out?” he blurted at last.

“Several hours,” came the level response, feeling to Mercurio like a gasp of oxygen. “Enough time for me to complete all of my work for the night.” There was a satisfaction to the statement which Mercurio couldn’t help but feel second-hand. LaCroix continued. “I had to wait for you to recover before feeding you. Else I would have turned you into a Kindred as well.” Mercurio could hear a smirk on his regnant’s lips “What a dreadful thought.” 

To Mercurio it felt like a sudden bullet of ridicule. “Is it that bad?” he murmured, afraid of the answer. “The thought’a makin’ me a vampire too?”

“My dear Mercurio,” LaCroix cooed with a tenderness that was antithetical to his next statement, “you would lose absolutely all value to me as my childe.”

The momentary relief of hearing his regnant’s voice turned into an icy shock. The pleasant feeling that had been clouding his head started to melt away.

Heedless of this change, LaCroix continued, “Besides, you’re not exactly Ventrue material…”

That was it. He was coming down from the high now. LaCroix was still and had always been a prick and Mercurio regretted whatever bullshit vampiric spell had come over him to make him feel otherwise.

But the events of the evening had showed him the wisdom of keeping his cards close and his mouth shut.

He pushed himself to his feet. The Ventrue watched him rise with the languid expression still painted on his handsome, uncanny face.

“Well, thanks for the blood. Sir,” Mercurio said. “I will… be in contact with you about that Sabbat gang.”

“I look forward to hearing from you, _mon cher_.”

Mercurio struggled to keep his shudder from being visible. The way this was going, he half expected LaCroix to offer to buy him breakfast…

“Okay,” he managed, “I’m gonna go now.”

Most of the elevator ride down to the lobby was spent with Mercurio’s face in his palms. Mercurio was aware of the mushy goo-goo feelings other ghouls felt towards their masters, brought on by whatever stupid powers of the blood the vamps had going on, but whatever the _fuck_ he’d just endured felt like a botched job. He’d just run the gamut of absolute loathing, to glowing adoration, to revulsion in the span of a couple hours. And worse, the memory of having felt all these things in earnest haunted him.

And what about LaCroix? The mood whiplash on that guy. They had been screaming at each other just hours before and LaCroix had come very close to literally murdering him. And by the end the vampire was calling him pet names in French. _Fuck_. Mercurio wasn’t sure which unnerved him more, the hungry vampire, or the happily fed one.

But, all said, he had gotten his blood for another month, and he would get to keep on living, or whatever this form of existence was called. Super strength, super speed, and unlike the bloodsuckers, he would still get to eat a burger on occasion. He could make it work. If he’d only resolve to be a little more tactful from here on out. 

Mercurio had nearly forgotten about the receptionist girl as he made his way through the front lobby. The shriek she gave upon seeing him quickly reminded him.

“Oh my God, Mercurio! What happened?! There’s blood on your shirt!”

Startled a moment, he recovered with a snorted laugh. “Meeting didn’t go well.”

At her scandalized look he added, “Don’t worry, its mine.” This didn’t appear to help.

There was no further way of explaining it, so he was about to head for the door without another word. But he stopped. “Charisse, bit of advice,” he said, smiling. “Quit your job. Sorry to tell you this but, LaCroix’s planning on canning you. Why not get the jump on him, huh, a little revenge? He really is a terrible boss, but you already knew that. Don’t worry, I’ll still send you the flowers.” 


End file.
